


The One Where Dorian is a Mechanic

by Miss_Black_Fox



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Eventual Smut, Food Porn, M/M, Modern AU, Motorcycles, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Black_Fox/pseuds/Miss_Black_Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is a mechanic in the modern city of Skyhold. Iron Bull and his Chargers are a motorcycle gang. What more do you need to know to click on this story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize in advance for any errors I make regarding motorcycles and their repair. I researched this topic as best I could! And it was a fun topic to research as I learned a few things about the kinds and styles of motorcycles c: 
> 
> Otherwise, I had this idea for a story and I had to write it. Expect another chapter or two, and eventual smut! Sexy, sexy smut. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you for reading my story, I hope you enjoy it!

The call came at midnight. Varric Tethras finished the current line on the old type writer before he turned in his chair to answer the phone.

“This is Tethras, if you owe me money pay it to my paypal and no you can’t pay it off some other way.” Varric eased back into the chair, phone held between his ear and shoulder. It was an old, dated thing, but so was everything else in his office. 

A man answered on the other side, “Varric! Glad I got you. Didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

Varric recognised the voice but couldn’t place a name, “Nah, I’m up working. So, what you got for me. . .” The guy’s name was on the tip of his tongue. With a flash of cognition he got it, “Timothy, gossip or work this time?”

“Work. Got a ‘vint fleeing the ‘vint border. He needs a new life, and got the money to cover your costs. He asked for the very best, you know.” The man shuffled his phone around, “He’s a wealthy kid by the look of it. Says he won’t change his name either.”

“Tell him that’s stupid,” Varric shook his head. “Look, he can keep his first name if he wants but he’ll need a fake last one.” Varric turned around as much as the cord would let him and grabbed the card-holder off of his desk. He thumbed through the collection of cards and stopped at an old business card for a place in Skyhold. Big city, easy to blend in, plenty of opportunities for a new life. “Alright, I got a place for him. Send him to 13-14 Herald Avenue in Skyhold. My people will fix it up. Send his payment to my account at Kirkwall City Bank.”

“Got it, and good luck with this one, Varric.” The line cut out. 

Varric hung up the phone and turned back to his typewriter. Behind it and to the side was his computer, sleek and modern, the only thing that could be described as such in his Movie Noir styled office. He even had a door with a glass window, his name on the front and blinds in the back. He pushed the typewriter aside and started several emails to his contacts. Timothy had already sent an email with the guy’s information and a picture.

“Dorian Pavus. . .” Varric pulled up a search engine and typed in the name. Hundreds of results popped up and Varric swore under his breath. This kid was the son of a Maker dammed Magister. No way would Dorian keep that last name, but Varric will come up with a good one for the kid to use. 

Several minutes later, Varric sent the last emails and pulled his typewriter back into place. No one ever appreciated how difficult it was to be a writer on top of having a day and night job. 

x x x x x x x x x x x x

“I told ya you were pushing her too hard,” Krem stood beside the prone monster of a motorcycle. Iron Bull kneeled beside the bike, the broken bike chain in his hands.

“She’s handled worse than that,” Bull said. The old girl was a mess, chain broken, the whole right side scraped and dent to hell, metal parts twisted and broken. Damn near made him cry to see the beauty in such a mess. She was custom made with an extra wide seat, powerful shocks, and a neon pink finish so bright it could make eyes bleed. 

“Yeah, but that was in her prime, and your’s, chief,” Krem’s tone had no humor in it. 

Bull ignored Krem and lifted the bike back to standing. He looked no worse than wear from the fall, all the damage taken by his clothes. Bull could feel soreness creep up his hip and he could feel it in his bad knee but he’ll be damned if that ever slowed him. The rest of the Chargers rested to the side of the road, and took the break to give their own bikes a good inspection. Good boys them, learned safety early and now they’re good for life. 

“How far are we from Skyhold, Krem?” Bull patted his girl’s good side, and frowned when he saw scratches in the paint.

Krem looked at the city in the distance, most of the tall buildings hidden behind even taller snowy mountains. “I’d say about an hour or two.”

Bull frowned at the distance, but accepted fate. What else could he do? Shake his fist and yell at circumstance? “Alright, you and the boys go on ahead. Get us registered and checked-in at the hotel. I’ll call around for a garage to tow her.” 

Krem nodded and took charge of their group. It didn’t take long for the others to finish inspection, rev up and ride off. Bull watched them go until they disappeared around the next turn. He patted the seat of his girl and dug his thankfully unharmed phone from the bike saddle. He dialed the only person he knew who could find a garage for his baby girl.

Bull hummed as the phone rang, and grinned when the line picked up, “Hey, Varric!”

“Well if it isn’t, Tiny.” Varric Tethras chuckled from the other side, “Good to hear from you. You and your gang still riding?”

“Of course. But this isn’t a pleasure call, Varric. Baby got busted up,” Bull’s said.

“Finally collapsed under your weight, did she?”

“Varric, that hurts.”

“Just a joke, so what’s the problem?”

“I need a garage. A good one that can tow her and get her fixed up for the race.” Bull would never give his baby over to some garage-chain that gave measly look-overs and overcharge everything. “Only the best for my baby.”

“Don’t worry, Tiny, I know just the place for you. A out of the way mom ‘n pop garage run by a guy I know. He’s great with this stuff, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t take it personally if he offends you in some way. He’s got a chip on his shoulder.”

“Got it.” Bull gave Varric his approximate location and after a few final pleasantries disconnected. Bull settled against the good side of his girl, confident that the kickstand would keep them both standing. Besides, the ground was freezing cold. 

An hour later the tow truck came around the bend. Bull didn’t bother to wave the guy down, it was hard to miss The Iron Bull and his pink baby. The truck was non-descript, no company name on the doors or anything like that. Thing looked ancient to Bull, the model at least twenty years old. As it passed he saw patches where the paint had chipped and the exposed metal had rusted. 

The truck’s tires crunched over the gravel spread out on the sides of the road as it went past and backed up till the bumper was four feet away from his baby. Bull leaned back to get a look at the driver as he came out. He got a fleeting look at the guy as he drove pass, but nothing that could give him a good read. 

Bull wasn’t ready for the guy who stepped out of the truck because holy hell it was not the kind of man Bull expected. The guy looked like a damn prince straight out of a rom com. There was nothing about his face that wasn’t devilishly attractive. For a moment Bull thought this was the wrong guy, or that he was dreaming. Handsome men with sharp features and a curled mustache belong in a porno, not in real life to tow his bike.

Please tell him that a Maker dammed ‘vint wasn’t his mechanic.

The ‘vint stopped dead as soon as he laid eyes on Bull’s girl. “It’s. . .pink. I wasn’t expecting pink.” 

Bull chuckled, “It’s pretty.”

The ‘vint looked like he was going to be sick with the way his face twisted, “It’s _gaudy_.” 

No one ever understood his baby. Bull chuckled and stood up to let the “mechanic” do his job.

The ‘vint approached, and bent down to examine baby’s roughed up side. “Let me guess, leaned too far into the Corypheus’ Knuckles turn back there? Then skidded down the road, oh, about twelve or so feet. Give or take. And look! A broken chain and busted fuel lines, isn’t this a dandy treat for me.”

“You got it on the nose,” Bull had to give the guy some credit, but did the ‘vint know the stuff to repair his baby? “Listen, I need her fixed up in time for the-”

“The Skyhold 500 mile Dragon’s Tail race, yes, that whole affair.” The ‘vint waved his hand. “One can hardly turn a corner without finding a dozen reminders of the whole event.” The ‘vint placed his hands on his knees and stood. 

Bull gave the guy a once-over, for a mechanic he was surprisingly clean with manicured nails. That’s something he never expected to see. Wasn’t dirt and grime in the job description? Either he never did the dirty work, or he cleaned up after every little mess to get on him.

“What’s your name, anyways?” Bull stood aside to let the guy take baby off her kickstand and hook her up to the tow. The guy moved quickly, but with confidence. 

The ‘vint kept his eyes on the bike and the chains while he spoke. “Dorian Coturn, I’d ask for your name but that’d be rude of me seeing how the Qun gives you numbers instead.”

Ouch, but Bull liked that bite, “Numbers are hard to remember, you can just call me The Iron Bull. The article is important.” He grinned and waited for the ‘vint’s response.

“The Iron Bull? What a charmingly. . . quaint name that is.” Dorian puffed up, perhaps offended that the Bull could shrug off his insults so quickly and quietly. If the ‘vint wanted to get a rise out of Bull he’ll have to do a lot better. 

“It sends a clear message,” Bull said. He shifted to his good leg, the bad one protested the cold and still felt sore from the fall.

“Yes, such a loud message that is. Me Bull. You human. I stomp.” 

Dorian worked like an artist and the bike his canvas. The man shifted and moved in little but meaningful ways. His hands would go from his work, to pat down his jumpsuit or flick an imaginary speck of dust off. It was a wonderful facade of pompous carelessness and mastered self-control that made Bull ache to pull it apart.

Bull laughed, an easy thing and observed the tiny movements that betrayed Dorian and showed the seams of his mask, “Only on Saturdays.”

Dorian gave Bull and woefully unimpressed look before working the lift to pull the bike off the ground and secure it to a narrow platform that pulled out from under the bumper. Bull winced at the lack of a proper carrier for a bike. He didn’t like the idea of baby bound and suspended, she needed to be treated like a proper lady. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look. Your bike is perfectly safe, this isn’t the first time I’ve towed one.” Dorian turned around to face Bull, one hand perched on his side the other lifted to size Bull between fingers. “I don’t think you are going to fit in my truck. Not with those those horns.”

“I’m not walking back.”

“You won’t fit.” 

Bull rolled his shoulders while he thought. It would be a tight fit to get him in that truck, one built for humans. “I’ll sit in the flatbed, I may take up your whole rear window but I’ll fit.”

“In the flat. . .” Dorian looked from his truck to Bull with a speculative air, but the ‘vint deflated, his shoulders stooped in defeat, “Alright. If I’m going to tow a Qunari’s bike I might as well tow the Qunari too, not like my truck can’t handle it. Well, go on, get yourself situated, as I would prefer to not stand in the cold for any longer.”

With a huff, Bull hefted himself into the flat and perched himself on the bulk of the tow machine, his good leg propped on the side of the flat for balance. The truck rumbled to life and turned onto the road. 

The ride was long, boring and cold as hell. Bull didn’t ride with a helmet, like there will ever be one he could wear over his horns, but on that ride he wished he had some kind of head protection to keep the wind off his skin. After an hour buffered by wind any man would feel raw and frozen. Thankfully the wind let up as they approached the city.

Skyhold was a monster of a city, all cold, steel skyscrapers with dark mirrored windows. Perched between Orlais and Ferelden, it was a hotbed of culture and politics. The culture part was good, Bull hoped to spend some time in the Orlesian district to get candied nuts and exotic chocolates. 

Dorian didn’t take them into the city proper, but around the edge of it, through an old suburb that couldn’t decide if had a shiny wrapping over an old treat or was just an old treat. Parts of the suburb looked refurbished while other parts held the rotted remains of old businesses like a museum of entropy. Dorian’s shop was on the edge between the two sides with the left side newly constructed. Looked like that missed the garage though. It was an old brick building painted gold on the outside. To think the guy called Bull’s bike gaudy. 

“Still back there, are you?” Dorian called out as he made his way around the truck, and flashed Bull a cheeky grin, “You were so quiet I thought you had fallen off.”

“Oh, you’d notice if I had, because then you wouldn’t have my muscular back to stare at.”

Dorian bristled for half a second before he hid it under smirk, “Yes, those muscles that would see me stabbed in the back, or bound in chains.”

Bull returned the volley with a wide grin, “I’d take you to dinner first,”

The angry little huff that came out of Dorian kept Bull’s smile on his face. He hopped out the back and helped unchain his bike from the truck while Dorian got the double garage door open. The inside was perfectly clean, not a spot of dirt or grime on the floor and everything was organized and in its place. On the walls there was a hook for everything with its name above. Bull figured the guy to be a clean freak. 

For a garage, the place was oddly stylish, the walls painted in solid colors, bright yellow with the far wall a deep shade of blue. Orange shelves accented the yellow walls, and in the corner was a small reception area with an old fashioned couch and modern style throw pillows. Bull didn’t know how it worked but it did. Beyond the couch was a counter and register. This was as small as garages get. 

“This is going to be expensive, you know,” Dorian said. Bull’s baby was on an air lift and Dorian had pulled over a cart loaded with toolkits. The ‘vint was on his knees and elbow deep into baby’s guts, “With a standard like this I can get new panels, though, none in this color. Dawnstone pink, never thought I’d see it on a bike. For a Qunari no less. For everything else well, I’ll see what I have. Most of my product is gone due to the race.”

“How many bikes you service in a small shop like this?” Bull stood to the side, close enough to watch Dorian work while not being in the way. 

“Usually two at a time, three at most. No more than seven a month.” Dorian pulled out the broken parts, his pretty fingers mucked with grime from inspection. 

Bull whistled, “And you keep your doors open with that?”

“You’d be surprised.” Dorian set the broken parts aside in a pile of plates, fuel lines and warped metal. “I cater to specific clients who pay very well. The only reason you’re here now is as a favor to Varric. Otherwise, I get parts for other shops. You see, I have a knack for being able to get my hands on anything.”

In thanks to Varric, Bull thought. That dwarf could get you anything if you had the money. Damn guy knew everyone worth knowing, and Dorian seemed to be one of those people. Wouldn’t surprise Bull, Varric was the kind of guy to know everyone from all walks of life. 

“You seem to know your way around a bike, ride yourself?” Bull glanced around the shop, he thought he’d find pictures or something to reveal more about the Vint. 

Dorian said nothing for a long moment, then, “On occasion, when the mood strikes me,” 

Okay, this guy may be a damn Vint but Bull was starting to like him. Not only was he pretty as fuck, but could repair and ride a bike. “Oh yeah? What’s your ride? Sport make? Cruiser?”

“Modified Imperium Spitfire,” Dorian said after a significant pause. He wiped his hands on a rag and pulled parts from a locker in the back. Bull’s jaw dropped.

“An Imperium Spitfire. . . and you _modified_ it?” Tevinter had nice bikes, all power machines built for speed and looked damn good doing it too. Spitfires were a league of their own, practically collectors items with only five hundred ever made. Bull and his boys once traveled across the whole of Orlais just to see one in show. A miracle of its own as very few ever made it out of the Imperium. 

Dorian turned to roll his eyes in exaggeration, “You’re giving me that stupid look again. Do pick up your mouth from the ground, jealousy is most unbecoming.” 

Bull sputtered several words, “You modified a Spitfire!” He ran his hands down his face, shock and disbelief mingled there, “You gotta be shitting me. There’s no way you have a Spitfire.”

“Believe what you wish, however limited that is with your ox mind.” Dorian had stiffened, his back straight as he began work on Bull’s bike. Bull couldn’t tell if the guy was honest or not. The guy was a ‘vint, sure, but a Spitfire doesn’t just end up in a little shop like this. Did Varric get the bike for Dorian? If so then Bull and Varric will have to have a very long discussion on friendship and favors between friends. 

Maker be dammed, a fucking Spitfire in a little garage. 

Bull moved off to the reception area to sit and call Krem. It took several rings before his second answered the phone.

“Hey, Chief, we’re at the hotel, you at a shop?”

“Yeah, it’s just outside the city, 13-14 Herald Avenue, little garage with gold siding, hard to miss.” Bull looked over at Dorian hunched over his baby. The ‘vint looked damn good, and Bull swore he could see a hint of muscle under that jumpsuit. “I’m going to stay here while baby is fixed up, you and the guys should get some RNR.”

“Already on it, chief. The others were talking ‘bout seeing the old fortress. They have some big tour starting in an hour. Sure you don’t want one of us to come pick you up?”

“Nah, I’m good here. I’ll meet up with you guys at the hotel later.” Bull said his goodbyes, Krem huffed and hung up. 

Bull settled into the couch and grabbed a pile of magazines from a holder. Mixed with bike magazines were ones on fashion, Tevinter and Orlesian going by the look, and the local Skyhold ‘zine. Bull flipped through each several times, and periodically looked up to see Dorian working or moving about. His jumpsuit was splotched with dirt and grime, suggesting the ‘vint wasn’t so against filth as Bull originally thought. 

Dorian took one break to make a call, and an hour later a guy delivered new side plates for the bike. They were white ones that could be painted pink later. Once those were in place everything was ready to go except the chain. 

“I’m going to have to go to another shop to get a chain. I don’t have any left in stock. I’d have it delivered but last time I did that I was cheated so I will be going in person this go around. Wait here, there’s a mini refrigerator behind the counter with soda and snacks. Try not to eat everything.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.” Bull gave the ‘vint a casual grin. Dorian paused, his eyes focused on Bull’s face as if he could detect lies. Then Dorian was out the door. Bull heard the truck start, and watched it leave through a window. 

After five minutes of flipping through the fashion ‘zines for the eighth time, Bull got up with the mental excuse to stretch his legs. He stepped outside through the door, and wandered behind the garage. To get his blood going. There was another building nestled behind it, all the widows covered by gold curtains so Bull couldn’t look inside. Beside the building was a plain shed. Bull tested the doors and they opened up. 

Now there was no hiding his intent to find the mythical Spitfire owned by the ‘vint mechanic. Because you never pass up a chance to see a Spitfire, ruined or not. 

The shed was empty save for a bike covered by a blue tarp and another bike pressed flush with the side of the right-hand wall. The exposed bike had a custom frame that curved and coiled like the body of a snake. The seat was a perched low on the frame with a high back with two thick saddle packs perched on either side. Bull gave an appreciative whistle as he ran his hand over the smooth steel frame. Her plates were speckled gold and white. 

Then there was the bike hidden under the tarp. With a flick of his wrists, Bull pulled the tarp off. The Spitfire’s chrome frame glittered in the minimal light from the open door. It had no bulk, the whole thing chopped down to bare parts. Spitfires always had black plates with red accent lines like it was a requirement for something from Tevinter, but this beauty had white plates with gold lines to frame her curves. Maker, she was a beauty, but was it really a Spitfire? 

With some effort he got down on his knees to check the engine. It was a Jarvis 400, a build used only by Spitfires, and by the look of it modified to perfection. She was disguised but this beauty was a Spitfire, honest to Maker. Bull spent time examining the engine and frame. At that show in Orlais he and his crew had to stare from behind a rail a good fifteen feet from the bike. He relished the chance to get close and personal.

Somewhere in his exploration he lost track of how much time had passed, and was reminded by a cleared throat. 

Dorian stood in the doorway, back from his errand. 

“Nice bike,” Bull stood and leaned against the side of the shed. He hadn’t intended to get caught, but Dorian didn’t look angry, just annoyed. Bull noted the crooked line Dorian’s mouth made when bothered, like he were caught between a smirk and a frown. 

“I figured I’d find you here, to snoop. Couldn’t resist looking at him, eh?”

“Him?” Bull leaned forward, a shine in his eyes. 

Dorian pursed his lips, “Yes, him. Not every bike is a ‘she’ if you must know.”

“Is that your preference. . . or?” Bull watched Dorian’s face, mesmerised. In a moment it had gone from teasing to guarded, the ‘vint’s eyebrows drawn together and mouth a thin line. Dorian was a very expressive fellow, his masks switched with practiced ease.

“I think that’s none of your business. The chain is in the garage, I hope you could manage getting it on while I write up a bill, yes?” Dorian switched to the high and lofty mask of a pampered prince. Bull wanted to know what other faces he could pull from the ‘vint. 

Dorian locked the shed door after Bull stepped out, and shot the Qunari glares as they made their way back around to the front. Inside Dorian headed to the counter and pulled a tablet out from underneath. The cash register must be for show.

Bull put the chain on, and tested it out. He checked everything else and was pleased to see a perfect job done on his bike. He brought baby down from the lift and turned the ignition to hear her engine rumble to life. Baby purred like a quilback. Bull placed his hands on the handlebars to feel her tremble. That’s his girl.

“I’m sending Varric the bill as I’m sure it’s more than you’re used to paying at one of those chain garages.”

“Woah now, its only the best for my baby. The day she sees the inside of a chain garage is no day. Because she never will.” Bull switched baby off and made sure she was settled on her kickstand before he made his way to the counter. “Just how expensive is this?” He leaned on his forearms and pressed into Dorian’s space. The ‘vint cast him looks but stood his ground.

Dorian held up the tablet for Bull to see. The Qunari whistled one low note. 

“That expensive. Well, I can’t complain, you treated my girl like a princess.” He pushed off, and pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Krem. Bull could have said his thanks, went outside and waited for someone to pick him up, and explore the city with the rest of his boys as they waited for the start of the Skyhold 500. Could have, but there was a bigger adventure to have here.

“That Spitfire of yours. . .” Bull started, the words loose as he pondered his phrasing. Dorian was quick with a reply, the ‘vint’s attention pulled from the tablet.

“No, you can’t ride it. You’ll bend the frame.”

“No, no, I’m just thinking here.” Bull went back to the counter, rested against it and leaned into Dorian’s space, closer than before. Dorian remained still, but wary, “A Spitfire like yours, she-- sorry, he, isn’t there for show. A chopper like that was made for speed. For racing, aye?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant.” Dorian wet his lips, and Bull’s eye shifted to stare at the ‘vint’s mouth. Redness creeped onto Dorian’s cheeks but the man kept his face determinedly neutral. 

“I’m saying that your Spitfire has nothing on my baby.” Bull smirked, looked Dorian in the eye as he issued the challenge. The ‘vint looked shocked, like he expected something else, something physical. Bull tucked that juicy tidbit of information away. 

Dorian cleared his throat, sucked in a sharp breath, “I think you’re deluded, but if you’re so insistent to be left in my dust how could I refuse?”

“It’s a date,” Bull grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your words of encouragement and support. They mean a lot to me! I would also like to thank everyone for their patience. I am not the fastest writer, but it's important to me to post quality work even if it takes longer. Only the best for my readers.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, as there will be more to come. Originally there was supposed to be smut in this chapter but I decided at the last minute to instead push it to next chapter. So there's something to look forward too c:

“You must think you’re quite clever, Varric,” Dorian pulled a large bottle without a label from the motorcycle pack. Varric smiled as he tried to connect point A to point B, from a call about a ‘vint leaving Tevinter to the barely legal boy in front of him. He couldn’t have written this if he tried, a ‘vint who fled Tevinter on a motorcycle. He could get away with it in one of his romantic serials, maybe he’ll have borrow that one.

“Dashing, famous, clever, I’m many things, Sparkler,” Varric sat on a dusty crate as Dorian pulled plastic cups of all things from the pack and poured their drinks. The guy brought more books and alcohol than clothes with him from Tevinter.

They were in an old garage that hasn’t seen use in years, dust coated everything from the floor to the walls. Behind the building was a one-room studio. It would be cramped for a pampered Tevinter Altus but Dorian said nothing when Varric showed him around. Varric would help Dorian turn the place into whatever he wanted as the ‘vint was insistent on starting his own business so he could be financially independent.

“Dorian Pavus to Dorian Coturn, it’s cute,” Dorian took a seat on a crate across from Varric and handed the dwarf his drink. “And Sparkler, one of your clever nicknames? Something for show with no real-” Dorian stopped mid-sip. “Actually. . . that one is quite clever.” The ‘vint frowned into his drink for a moment before a smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

“What is this stuff?” Varric sniffed the glass, the drink was fragrant, but it wasn’t citrus or fruity. It almost smelled of smoke and charcoal.

A real smile appeared on Dorian’s lips, “Tevinter Dragon Tongue Whiskey,” Dorian tipped his drink back and took a deep swallow, chased down by a quiet ahh. “Made with real dragon tongue, not the artificial tongue the knock-offs use.”

Varric liked a good drink, but one never knew what they’d get with Tevinter drinks. They were always spicy and hot or had some kind of magic alchemical element in them. He took a sip, his face puckered in an instant, and tears welled in the corner of his eyes. With considerable effort he swallowed. The brew burned its way down his throat like a forest fire. “Maker’s breath,” He panted and shoved his cup back to Dorian.

“It’s not for everyone.” Dorian poured the rest of Varric’s drink into his own glass and tossed back another gulp. Varric was slightly pleased to see Dorian’s eyes water, but damn, how did the guy manage to hold that stuff down?

“It’s a necessary skill in Tevinter Circles,” Dorian answered, as though he had read Varric’s thoughts. “We’d smuggle bottles into the Circle. It livened things quite well and if you couldn’t hold down your drink then you had to take a double shot. You learn fast.”

“I can imagine,” Varric coughed, his throat still not cleared from the drink. Last time he struggled that much with a drink was when The Iron Bull had him try some Qunari spirit. That was the last time he did any drinking with Bull, and this is the last time he drinks with Dorian. “What were you thinking of doing with the place, Sparkler?”

Dorian hummed, cup held delicately in one hand as though it were made of the finest crystal, “I think I’ll re-open the garage. I always liked repairing bikes. One summer long ago I fixed a junked Ghislain Dart. Had to rebuild the whole engine, took me months.” Dorin’s eyes had a far off look to them, then the ‘vint was back to reality. “I’m rather excellent at it.”

Varric had no idea if Dorian was as good as he said, but something told him that Sparkler was being honest. “I’ll help you get this place going, and get you a few clients to start you out.”

Dorian’s response was hesitant, as though worried all this would require an added costed. The ‘vint had enough money to pay for Varric’s services, but little more. Dorian didn’t seem used to kind things being done for him. “I. . . thank you, Varric. For all of this.”

“Think nothing of it, Sparkler.”

Dorian wouldn’t let it rest, “I wouldn’t have made it this far without your help. I know I paid for it, but, I must say it.” The ‘vint looked far too serious.

Varric’s face softened, “It’s what I do. I’ll tell you what, tell me your story one day and we’ll call it even.”

Dorian stared at his hands, and there was a sudden, heavy droop in his shoulders, “Then I’m afraid we’d never be even, Varric,”

Varric wanted to forget the pained look on Dorian’s face. He’s see that look too many times before. It was the same look Bertrand had--

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Dorian.”

x x x x x x x x x x x x

The Iron Bull enjoyed the way Dorian bristled like an angry cat at the mention of the word date. Dorian’s whole body tensed as soon as Bull said it. The ‘vint stashed the tablet back under the counter and muttered a few things about giant ox men and the word lummox was thrown around.

“Venhedis, what time is it?” Dorian pulled an iphone, an older model, from a pocket on his jumpsuit. “Five thirty. Alright, you want a race we can do it tonight.”

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Bull’s grin widened at the withering look Dorian shot him.

Dorian, huffed and moved to pull a hand through his perfect locks but stopped when he saw his grease-stained hands. “I know a place not far from here. Give me a minute to clean up.” The ‘vint grabbed a rag from the wall before he went out the front and vanished around the side of the building. Bull watched the sway in Dorian’s stride that showed off the ‘vints ass.

That was on fine ass.

Bull texted back and forth with Krem as he waited. His ‘vint wanted pics of the Spitfire and one of this oh so handsome mechanic. It was near twenty minutes before Dorian returned, dressed in a thick silver jacket and black rider pants. The jumpsuit had been sexy but this was even better. “Hey, stand still for a moment,” Bull held up his phone.

“Have to take a picture of me, hmm? Yes, I am quite handsome.” Dorian practically posed, one hand artfully placed at his hip and a charming smile on his face. “Though I do wonder why a Qunari would want my picture. Aside from the obvious.”

Bull sent the picture with a press of a button, “Friend of mine didn’t believe me when I said I had a prince for a mechanic.”

Dorian laughed, lips caught in a full smile, “I picture my profile in marble.” The ‘vint pulled a pair of gloves from a pocket on the jacket and tugged them on. Bull had seen plenty of motorcycle fashions and styles, and was damn happy to see the ‘vint wearing something practical. Not to mention those pants hugged his legs and ass far better than that jumpsuit.

“I think dawnstone would be prettier,” Bull said to see Dorian’s nose crinkle.

“Egad. That’s so tacky. Believe me, because I’ve seen busts done in dawnstone and they are horrifying. Now get your bike out so I can close up.” Dorian pushed the bike lift to its place against the wall and glanced over the walls and shelves to make sure everything was in its place. Bull did as he was told and got out with his baby.

Dorian pulled down the garage doors and locked them secure with a padlock. Then he was off, headed back around the building. Several moments later Bull heard the Spitfire’s engine start. Dorian pulled the bike along side Bull. “Ready to lose to superior Tevinter machinery and breeding?”

Bull had only a few moments to catch Dorian’s wicked grin before the ‘vint secured a silver helmet over his head and whipped out onto the road, the Spitfire’s chrome set ablaze with golden evening light. “Heh, heh, yyyyeah, this is gonna be good.”

Bull followed Dorian down a maze of side-roads and back alleys through the suburb and suddenly they were on an old highway with the city behind and tall mountains stretched out before them. They went the speed limit, which Bull tried to protest by passing Dorian in an effort to get the ‘vint to speed up but Dorian kept pace. Since the ‘vint knew where they were going Bull relented and stayed a safe distance behind.

About two miles down the highway Dorian turned onto a step service road that took them up a along a mountain. On the first rise Bull tried to push down thoughts of baby losing traction and sliding back down. His girl was just repaired and he would cry if she got roughed up again. But she made it and after that the road was relatively flat as it took them around the peak.

Ten minutes later the service road took them down into a narrow valley pinched between two peaks. A paved road ran in a loop around the edge of the valley, various little side roads split off from the main road to trail up the side of the mountains ending in little parking flats. The service road ended in a large parking lot, a simple building lay beside it with a broken down sign in the front of it.

“Used to be a tourist trap decades ago,” Dorian said when they stopped in the parking lot. Dorian pulled his helmet off to set it in his lap and Bull was giddy to see the ‘vint’s perfect hair messed from the ride. Dorian quickly straightened it out with a gloved hand. “There’s a complex cave system that connects the two mountains together with one branching path that went down the Deep Roads. The whole thing was poorly planned, far too many people ended up lost and had to be rescued. The caves were sealed a decade after they were opened to the public.

“The road however, is perfect of bikes. You’ll see that the turns are wide and smooth on this side of the track, but get to the north end and they’ll turn sharper before going into the straightaway to our right.” Dorian gestured as he spoke, and ended with a flick to the abandoned building at the end of the lot. “That was the visitor center complete with a gift shop, and most of the merchandise still inside. Guess they didn’t care about it. There’s nothing interesting anyways, mostly shirts and coffee mugs.”

Bull nodded along as Dorian explained the track, and was surprised there was a place like this hidden in the mountains. There was nothing in the range north of Skyhold, and all roads ended up nowhere. “You come here often then?”

“When the weather is good. Half the year this place is buried under snow and the service road untraspassible. But yes, I’ll come up here to test run engines or run a bike through its paces.” Dorian looked thoughtful, then it was gone, hidden underneath a helmet. “That is irrelevant however as I do believe we came here so that you may feel the shame of defeat.”

Bull growled, “We’ll see about that, ‘vint. You fixed up baby, sure, but you haven't seen her work her magic.”

They lined up with the edge of the parking lot, tires aligned the faded white arrow that pointed into the lot. Bull rev’ed the engine once to feel baby’s engine purr. He saw Dorian shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Ready?” Dorian shouted over their engines. “On go. One. Two. Go!”

Bull pulled on the throttle and baby shot forward. For the past week he and baby had to take things slow on the journey to Skyhold. Now they were gonna show that ‘vint and his Spitfire what his girl could do. He went fast into the wide turns and kept to the center of the road to prevent Dorian from passing. He needed to gain a significant lead before they got to the straightaway where the Spitfire would have the advantage.

Wind whipped at his skin, the chill stung like a burn but Bull powered through it, his thick skin resistant to the cold. He kept his eyes forward on the road, and his hearing trained behind him. Dorian was behind, but Bull was putting distance between them. For all the ‘vint’s talk Bull thought the ‘vint would be more aggressive.

He shifted his weight and leaned deep into the wide turns, body and bike held suspended over the road, held in place by the thin contact of wheels to asphalt. Dorian fell further behind, the sound of the Spitfire’s engine fainter than before. They quickly approached the north section of the road where the turns sharped into hairpins.

Either Dorian had greatly overestimated his abilities or he-

Bull blinked and Dorian’s back rocketed past, the ‘vint wove into the turns, body and bike pressed close to the road, scant centimetres between him and pavement. Bull swore and slowed just to watch Dorian effortlessly shift his weight and bike from left to right and right to left and each time take his bike so deep into the turns that it defied gravity. And in what felt like seconds the Spitfire hit the straightaway and flew down the pavement.

Bull took baby through the turns, and when he hit the straightaway Dorian caught up and shot past once again, and again for a third time when Bull reached the parking lot but by then he had slowed significantly to watch the Spitfire bend the laws of gravity and friction. He pulled baby into the handicap space right next to the visitor center and could not, would not, take his eyes off Dorian as the ‘vint rode into the lot standing up on his bike, hands raised, chin imperiously lifted and balance impeccable. Now the ‘vint was just showing off.

“I do believe I missed this ‘magic’ that ‘baby’ of yours has.” Dorian’s face was flush with cold and excitement when he pulled off his helmet. His hair was delightfully ruffled and without missing a beat, Dorian ran his hand through it, messing and fixing it like it were second nature to him.

“Shit, Dorian, you race professionally?” Bull leaned on the handlebars of his bike, weight shifted comfortable between both legs as he held baby up straight. The image of Dorian riding imprinted onto his thoughts, and insistent, desiring to be viewed over and over again. Any person that could ride a bike like that was damn sexy.

“No, though I could have easily pushed myself in that direction, but I did spend a great deal of my youth racing. Motorcycle racing is the national sport of Tevinter alongside horse racing. My, it seems we have a thing for racing up north.” Dorian hopped off his seat and rested the Spitfire on its kickstand before he kneeled down to inspect the engine. “Alas, I made my choice to pursue higher learning.”

Bull nodded along but the more the ‘vint spoke the less sense he made. Dorian looked and acted like he came from nobility, yet he was here in the south with his own business as a motorcycle mechanic. The two images at odds with one another, yet blended perfectly with Dorian. “Where’d you learn to fix bikes? School?”

Dorian shot a quick glance to Bull, but he wasn’t fully there, the ‘vints thoughts pulled to some far off place before they focused. “Oh, um, well when you’ve been around bikes your whole life you pick some things up.” Dorian started, “I studied magic in school. Magical theory, that is.”

That wasn’t the whole truth, Bull saw Dorian’s tell, a quick swallow that made the ‘vints adam apple bob temptingly. But he wasn’t going to press the issue as he had a feeling Dorian would throw up walls the moment his veneer was threatened. Bull shifted to an easier topic, “You’re really good at it. Are you racing in the Skyhold 500?”

“That affair? No, I won’t as I will be busy with the shop and thoroughly enjoying the business the race brings me. I don’t suppose you’re going to do it alone on that standard.”

“Heh, heh, naw, me and my gang are racing together. You’d like our bikes. My second, Krem, he’s got a racer from Qarinus. One of the Prestige lines.”

“Traditional or Modern?”

“Modern, Traditionals are expensive as hell when they break down or need a part replaced.”

Dorian shook his head, “Shame, Traditionals are the more reliable of the two and the steel frames on the Moderns are dreadfully blasie. All practicality and no style.”

Bull heard his phone ring from inside his jacket pocket, he wondered how many times his guys had tried to message or call him since leaving the garage. He unlocked the screen and found over a dozen messages from the guys, as he thumbed through them he had to chuckle. “Heh, Dalish wants me to get your number purely incase her bike breaks down.” Most of the messages were from Krem and Skinner wanting to see pics of the Spitfire. Bull figured he could do one better. “Hey, mind if I take a video of you and your Spitfire in action?”

Dorian shifted from foot to foot, his gaze focused on his bike, then said, “So long as you don’t put it online.” When Bull gave his word he wouldn’t Dorian hopped on the Spitfire and started the engine. Bull started filming right away, and did a walk around of the bike to capture it at all angles then stood at the edge of the lot to film the bike go from rest to wicked speed as it flew down the straightaway. At the end of the straightaway Dorian turned on a dime and raced back down.

In the end, Bull took several videos of Dorian and the Spitfire, of them down the straightaway, another back in the northern section to film the bike taking the curves, then a few of Dorian showing off his trick riding skills by standing on the bike, popping wheelies and one crazy thing where he propped his hands on the seat of the bike then steered with this feet.

The two of them hunched together to watch the bright screen in the quickly fading light as Bull replayed the videos. The Qunari found himself watching Dorian more than the screen, the 'vint rapt attention, and wide smile on his lips.

“My, where has the time gone." Dorian stared over the mountain tops, the sun had vanished behind them long ago, and a halo of pink-gold light lined their tops, and above a bruised blue sky darkening by the minute. "We should head back. Going down that service road in the dark is not recommended."

They left the parking lot, and went onto the service road, Bull in front as his bike had a larger and brighter headlight than the Spitfire. It was a quick ride back to the garage, and they parked in the front of it. Dorian looked at Bull, as though wondering why the Qunari was still around when his bike was fixed and Dorian brought home safe.

"I don't suppose this is the part where Tevinter and Qunari relations fall apart and we engage in a mean glaring contest and occasionally slap or make quips about honor?" Dorian's chuckle was nervous, he sat straight backed on the Spitfire, legs spread across the seat to keep the bike balanced. Bull's laugh hid the growl that came at the thought of the 'vint spread open on his bike as Bull fucks him until Dorian forgets his own name.

All day he’s been churning over thoughts of the ‘vint, first innocent stuff, admiring his backside, but seeing Dorian ride opened the gates for images of dark skin laid bare and covered with sweat. Oh hell, yeah, and he’d see the way Dorian would glance at him out of the corner of his eyes.

"I will say you've been a pleasant surprise," Dorian continued, "Varric didn't say you were a Qunari when he called me, and when I saw you I thought, well, I was thinking a lot of things. Some only vaguely racist."

"And the others?"

"Yes, well, it hardly matters now, does it?" Dorian said, "But if Varric trusts you then I do too." The 'vint shook his head, "Oh what my family would say if they saw me now. Nothing good, I say for certain, but ah, I should be going. I trust you know where whatever motel you're staying in is?"

Bull nodded, "Yeah, rest well, Dorian."

"Ah, um. . . yes, you too, Iron Bull."

x x x x x x x x x x x x

Bull lay flat on his back on the king-sized bed, his knees pressed tight to the edge so he could lay without his horns knocking into the headboard. Krem, Skinner and Dalish were on the other bed and clustered around Bull's phone as they watched the videos of the Spitfire over and over again. The others were in their own rooms, having already watched the videos several times.

“Damn, Chief,” Krem shook his head and turned on the bed to face Bull, “So, did you charm him off his socks?” His ‘vint had a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“I made an impression.” Bull said simply. Krem drew forward, the ‘vint had caught the scent of something, Bull’s lack of response, maybe the fact that he was sulking on the bed rather than boasting about the fine piece of ass he could have gotten.

“I see, you chickened out.” Krem’s smirk turned into a shit-eating grin and Dalish was behind him, eyes alight with the juicy gossip. 

“Ooh, boss, you’ll have to go back tomorrow.” Dalish said with squee delight, “Say your bike broke again, or you need another chain. Then you can claim you lost your wallet and have to repay him another way.” She waggled her eyebrows and that had Bull laughing deeply.

“For fuck’s sake, Dalish, this isn’t a porno.” He said, voice still caught on laughs.

“I don’t know, chief, with his looks? Working in a garage?” Krem said, but his ‘vint was laughing too.

Bull took a deep, calming breath, so he could think, “We’ll see,” he said. 

Bull wanted to go back to the garage and watch Dorian work on bikes, and flirt with the ‘vint to see him get hot and flustered. But Dorian had his secrets, and it was something about the way the ‘vint hid behind a face that told Bull he should leave Dorian alone. That the ‘vint was trouble. Then Iron Bull would think of Dorian’s smile and those thoughts would quiet. Bull ran a hand over his good eye then kicked Skinner and Dalish out so he could sleep. 

Krem left with them to play cards with the others, leaving Bull alone in the room to not thinking about dammed sexy motorcycle mechanics.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I am still the slowest writer ever. 
> 
> I also keep forgetting to check if I used eye instead of eyes for Bull. I always say I will, but then I forget. 
> 
> Also, warning to those who haven't eaten or are hungry. There is a lot of delish food in this chapter. Sorry, not sorry.

Sundays were Varric’s days off. He’ll work round the clock every other day, but Sunday was always put aside as a day to do nothing but whatever the hell he wanted for the sake of doing it. Usually this equated to a free day of writing, or catch up with old friends across instant messaging. Sometimes he’ll get on a plane or a train and go somewhere, anywhere. The exception was Kirkwall if for no other reason than the place was a bit of a shithole. 

As it were, when the door to his office opened he expected the cute reception girl from the offices down the hall, not a man that looked a hell of a lot alike Dorian. Not just like him, but an older version of the man, with sterner lines around the mouth and the start of grey hair along the scalp. 

This was starting to look like one shitty situation.

“Sorry, but this office is actually closed today,” Varric said, he had to give it a try. 

“It’s my understanding that you know where my son is,” The man strode into the office and took a seat in the plush chair across from the desk. “I’m not leaving until I know where he is.”

Varric bit down a groan. Well, this guy was straight to the point. “Look, I don’t know if you saw the sign on the door, but I’m with the Merchant’s Guild, not the police. I get that you could mistake me as a private investigator from the office, but you got the wrong place.” The dwarf had several names lined up in the back of his head, people he could call that could move Dorian overnight, or help Varric himself vanish should he piss off anyone important. 

A fucking Magister from Tevinter seemed pretty important. Magister Pavus looked exact to the pictures Varric saw when doing his research into Dorian’s background, but the guy carried the kind of grief in his shoulders that no picture could do justice. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, dwarf.” Halward Pavus snapped. “You know where my son is. I know what sort of business you run on the side, and I know that my son hired you.”

Varric kept his face neutral as he thought the situation over. Pavus didn’t know where Dorian was, otherwise he’d go straight there. His contract wasn’t in Varric’s circle of trusted contacts as they knew where Dorian was. Could be one of the runners or fielders. Maybe someone within the Guild. Varric wasn’t the only one to run a secret service. His was only the best.

Varric shook his head and leaned back in his chair, “If you know that much then you must know I never sell out a client.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table and fingers steepled before him, “Whatever family. . . issues you have going on here. That’s not my business. I was hired to do a service, and I do my job well.”

Pavus scowled, “I can expose you.”

“You know you can’t,” Varric eyed the man across from him carefully. Pavus was a stern man, efficient in politics and drowned in tradition. “But I can do something for you. I can open up a line of communication. You give me a message to deliver to Dorian, I’ll get it to him. If he chooses to reveal himself then the rest is not my business.”

Silence hung in the air, then a heavy sigh from Pavus. The Magister looked older when he agreed with the compromise. 

“You want to write a message now, or send it to me after some thought?” Varric didn’t like this. He learned a lot of things about the Pavus family. The dirty secrets kept in closets, and all of that seemed at odds the man in front of him. 

Was this a man sincere in his search for his son, or was it a ploy? Varric had no idea. This family’s pile of shit could bury him. And he felt like he was getting ready to shovel a big heap right on top of his head. 

“Do you have a pen and paper?” Pavus asked. Varric supplied both, and the two men sat in silence while Halward Pavus wrote. 

x x x x x x x x x x x x

Iron Bull found out that someone, Dalish, had changed the background of his phone to the picture of Dorian in his silver riding gear. He wasn’t complaining, but every time he pulled out his phone to check the time or weather there was Dorian’s dashing smile. It really wasn’t helping. Neither were the pointed looks Dalish sent him. 

The Chargers and its Iron Bull walked down the Ferelden district, their bikes left at the hotel. It was a warm evening, or as warm as it got this high up in the mountains. Bull was comfortable in a snug t-shirt and pants while they others donned light jackets. The locals walked around like it was seventy degrees out. 

“There’s a blacksmith around here I want to check out,” Skinner spoke up from the middle of their group. “It may take a while.” From there they split up. Stitches went with Skinner. Rocky, Grim and Krem to check out a near-by bike store, and Bull and Dalish set out to find the sweetest, most sugary thing they could find to eat.

It turned out to be a street vendor selling red velvet funnel cakes topped with sugar and chocolate drizzles. Both of them drooled the moment they saw the sign. Bull ordered three for himself and Dalish got five. Arms loaded with enough sweetness to kill a man they commandeered an outside table from one of the street cafes. Bull went inside to order drinks before someone could come over and kick them out. 

He came back with waters and sodas and pulled out his phone to check for texts. He heard Dalish squee with delight. 

“Go on, tell me.” She said in a sweet voice, mouth half full of funnel cake.

“Tell you what? That you got chocolate on your nose? Because you do, and sugar on your cheek.” He grinned around his bite of rich sweetness. 

Dalish huffed, “You know what. About Dorian. You like him.”

“I hardly know him.” Bull pointed out.

“Oh, please,” Dalish scrunched her face, the effect diminished by the smears of chocolate and sugar. “You’ve slept with people for less. Like on the way here. The red-haired biker from the Free Marshes. You two hardly said a complete sentence to each other before you were off to your just paid for room.” 

Bull bit into the cake to buy him time to think. So he got around. Nothing wrong with that, his partner had a good time, he had a good time. Nothing wrong. Dalish was sharp, more than she let on. She and Krem were like hounds who sniffed him out of every nook and cranny he hid in. They sensed a change in the air. Bull did too, but he didn’t like it. 

“There’s not much to say. Dorian’s a nice guy. He knows his way around a bike and is a great racer.” Bull shoved more funnel cake into his mouth to avoid talking a while longer.

Dalish frowned at his answer, more annoyed than anything else. Bull shrugged and tried not to think about it. Which made him think about it more. “If you’re asking why I didn’t sleep with the guy then I’ll tell you. I flirted, he didn’t look interested. I’m not going to force myself on someone.”

“Why don’t we ask him?” 

He shook his head, “I’m not going back to his shop just to proposition him.”

Dalish laughed, “No, I mean why don’t we ask him right now.”

Bull looked up, Dalish’s face alight with elven deviousness as she looked somewhere behind him. Bull didn’t have time to look around when she stood and shouted. 

“Dorian!” Dalish yelled, hands cupped over her mouth. Bull turned in time to see Dorian jump and look frantically around. And of course the ‘vint was more warmly dressed than everyone else in his silver riding jacket and long pants. Dorian quickly spotted Bull, because how do you not notice him, and the waving Dalish who stood on her seat to be seen over cars and people. 

“Dorian! Over here!” Dalish waved and kept waving until Dorian crossed the street during a lull in traffic and hesitantly make his way over. 

He smiled as he approached, another mask, “Well, if it isn’t The Iron Bull and. . . let me guess, Krem?”

“Nope! I’m Dalish.” Dalish smiled and motioned for Dorian to sit beside her. He glanced at Bull before he took a seat and Dalish shoved a funnel cake over to him. “Here, have some. We bought plenty. Oh, I should go check on the others. I’ll be right back!” 

Bull tried not to groan as Dalish ran off, phone already out in her hand. Right this moment he knew she was texting the others about this little run-in. He looked up at Dorian who starred at the fried cake like it was diseased. 

“Looking at this is making my teeth rot.” Dorian prodded the cake with a finger, and frowned at the grease that clung to his finger. 

Bull laughed, “Just try it.” He pulled over his second plate and took a big bite, chocolate and sugar getting everywhere. Dorian leaned back as though repulsed, but he picked a bit of cake and brought it to his mouth to taste. 

“By the Maker, this tastes like red velvet.” Dorian picked a larger piece and took a slow bite. Bits of sugar clung to his styled mustache. “I swear I thought this was, well, I don’t know what I thought this was. A lump of red grease, but no, it’s a fried cake.”

Bull chuckled, “Yeah, it’s called a funnel cake. I’m guessing you don’t get to too many public fairs or carnivals, huh?” Bull could imagine it easily, and laughed harder as Dorian cringed. 

“Can’t you tell that I would be thrilled at the prospect to rub elbows with hundreds of people and walk upon their discarded trash like flowers upon a garden path?” Dorian was pompous, nose up in the air, then brought back down as he ate more bite-sized chunks of the funnel cake. 

Bull didn’t waste time with that chicken pecking. He picked the whole thing up and took bites out of it. Far more messy, but so much more satisfying. 

“You have,” Dorian was trying hard not to laugh and look appropriately disgusted, “Everything everywhere.”

“And you have powdered sugar on your mustache.” He barked a laugh as Dorian dropped everything to clean his face, even the parts that had nothing on it.

“Kaffas, I’m going to grab napkins. I don’t know why you don’t have any, you barbarian,” Dorian bee-lined for the cafe. Not a moment later Bull’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Dalish: What did you do?!?!

So she was watching him. Bull checked around but couldn’t spot her. Good girl.

Bull: I told him he had sugar on his ‘stash. He went inside to grab napkins.

Dalish is typing. . .

Dalish: Tell him he has pretty eyes! 

Dorian came back with a pile of napkins and set it down before Bull. “You’ll want to clean everything. Please tell me your table manners are not common amongst your people,”

“Only around stuck-up ‘vints.” 

Dorian laughed, mouth hidden behind his hand, and Bull grinned. Maybe he read Dorian wrong, and that this guy wasn’t bad news. What even gave him the idea in the first place? Sure Dorian was guarded, but there were no masks here, it’s all genuine Dorian. Bull itched to take out his phone and snap more photos of Dorian with his fingers sticky with chocolate and trying very hard not to get anymore droppings on him. 

For several minutes they ate in bliss, while Bull said his bike is doing fine, and his team is ready for the race. Their plates were nearly empty, but there were still four plates left. 

“I should be going,” Dorian picked at the remains of his cake before popping a piece into his mouth. Bull stared at his own plate, and decided fuck all to everything.

“Why don’t you and I go over to the Orlesian district, and you can tell me which place has the spiciest foods. My treat.” It was an offer for a date. He’s taken people he’s liked out places before. If the night ended in sex, awesome, if not, still awesome because he got to go out with someone. Dorian was definitely someone he’d like to take out, if not because Dorian could carry a conversation about bikes for hours. 

“I. . .” Dorian stared at Bull’s face, a wary mask placed upon his face, “Well I do know this great little place with authentic Tevinter curry.”

x x x x x x x x x x x x

Dalish: Did you tell him the eye thing yet? I’m sure it’d work great on him.

Krem: Don’t fuck this up, chief.

Rocky: Let us know if the food’s any good.

Stitches: Don’t worry about us, chief. We’re going to a pub to get drinks and dinner.

When Bull thought of “great little place” he imagined an out of the way place, not a restaurant literally surrounded by buildings. To even get to the place they had to squeeze through a narrow alleyway painted black with vivid yellow stars and patterns. After forty feet they came out the other side but it wasn’t any less claustrophobic. 

The restaurant was a black square building of two floors and a fucking tree growing out the top of it, the trunk and branches easily making up another two floors. There was roughly ten feet of space between the restaurant and the back wall of the buildings that bordered it in on all sides. The alleyway was the only way in as far as he could tell. 

A large wooden sign stretched across the entire front and read: Maleficar in dry-blood red paint. At least, that’s what he assumed, but one never knew when it came to Tevinter. Bull had never seen a restaurant that looked so menacing and uninviting. 

Of course Dorian strolled forward like it was the most normal thing in the world, and pulled with his whole body to open a dark, heavy door that Bull didn’t even see. Why did everything have to be so dark? What windows Bull could see were painted black on the outside. 

“Is this where you ‘vints take care of your blood rituals?” Bull questioned, kept his tone light.

Dorian paused in the doorway to roll his eyes, “Only on Tuesday. That’s our Happy Hour in Tevinter. Drinks and sacrifices half-off.” 

Bull laughed, but it was a dry chuckle at best. Dorian hesitated, features trained into a neutral expression. Bull smiled, and stepped forward.

Inside was something else. The entire first floor one large, open room with booths along the wall and little tables scattered across the floor. Candles were everywhere, the whole place lit by them. The centerpiece of the room a large iron chandelier shaped like a coiled serpent, each ascending ring one coil until the tail connected to the ceiling. More candles lined the body and dripped red wax down the iron. Bull felt chills go down his spine.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Dorian questioned, posture stiff, face stiff. He was waiting for an answer and Bull had no idea. He was saved by a waitress dressed in the latest Tevinter fashion (which Bull knew in thanks to reading Dorian’s fashion magazines many, many times), a dark solid top, with sheer pants overtop skinny tights. 

She greeted Dorian by name, and spared a polite smile for Bull before she lead them to the back, or as she called it “Dorian’s usual spot”. The booths were wide, with plenty of room for even a big guy like him to sit. 

“The Qarinus Curry hot pot, please darling,” Dorian flashed a full smile to the waitress who winked back before going down some side passage into inky blackness. Bull wondered how many other hidden entrances there are here. He was still expecting people in black robes to pop out and start the sacrifices. 

Dorian groaned, pulling Bull’s attention back to him, “You hate this place, don’t you?” Dorian ran a hand through his hair, face pulled into a frown. “I’m sorry. I know another place we could go instead.”

“I’m good,” Bull said, “Just, ah, not what I’m used to. Never would have imagined a place like this in Skyhold though.”

Dorian nodded, whole face brightened in an instant, “It has quite a history to it actually.”

“Another tourist trap?”

“No, no. Years ago this building was used by Tevinter spies. It was quilt shop back then. This property was owned by a rather stubborn family. They refused to sell during Skyhold’s development, so Skyhold built around it. Well, the family who owned it, they were Tevinter. Soporati, but were also related to one of the Altus lines. The Altus family, the Venators, took ownership of the home and-”

Bull listened intently as Dorian delved into this history of the building, how it had gone from quilt shop, to spy headquarters, a brothel and finally a restaurant. As he talked, Dorian’s face lit up like he were talking about bikes and Bull couldn’t help but want to know more as Dorian painted history before him. 

Dorian had gone off onto a tangent about the Venator family and their cult obsession with elder gods when the waitress returned with a big iron pot of curry. Stone bowls were set before them and a big ladle set into the pot.

“I must warn you. This isn’t for the faint of heart,” Dorian smiled, full of mischief. He ladled a large helping into his bowl and waited for Bull to get his.

“But what about the tree?” Bull asked first.

“The tree? Oh, yes, the one growing on the roof. After dinner.” 

Bull wanted to know, because it’s a tree on an old as balls building. But the curry smelled spicy and sweet. He saw chunks of mango alongside plums and giant square chunks of meat. He filled his bowl to the brim and managed to balance a chunk of meat and mango on his spoon. Flavour exploded in his mouth, creamy sweetness kicked to the curb and beaten into submission by the harshest kick of spice. Bull coughed, mouth on fire and it was awesome. He hasn’t had a kick like this in years.

“Aw hell, yeaahhhh.” Bull charged into his second spoonful to experience the wash of sweetness before round two of pain. “Shit, this place doesn’t mess around. I love it.” 

Dorian laughed, “I’m glad you like it. You won’t find anything like it in Skyhold.” 

Oh hell no, southerners had no taste for spicy, not like those up north did. Orlais liked spice, but usually paired with sugary sweetness or used it to flavor savory meats. They used spice to accent or compliment, never as the main deal. “I am definitely telling the boys about this place. What kind of spirits they have on tap here?”

“Tevinter spirits and craft beers. I recommend Dirty Whore for beers. They’re a brewery out of Minrathous.”

Bull made a face at the word craft beers, to which Dorian replied with his most unamused look.

“Oh don’t look like that. This is where you go for authentic cuisine and spirits. Go to the place a few blocks down for drinks. They have good curry there.” Dorian huffed, acted all bothered and noble-y but Bull saw past that. Dorian’s a sweet guy. 

Conversation slid away as they ate, but it wasn’t quiet by any means. There was plenty of clatter from spoons scraping the bottom of the bowls for the last chunks and moans of pleasure as they killed their mouths with curry. 

They finished the whole pot. Bull lounged back in his seat, one hand rubbing his full belly. Dorian shook his head at the display, but Bull saw the smile on the man’s lips. This was great, Bull didn’t claim to understand Tevinter style, but the restaurant seemed brighter with its history exposed. It was hard to be intimidated by a place that was once a quilt shop. Looking around he could see it through its different life cycles. Walls covered in colorful tapestries, to laden with maps, a lounge floor for the prostitutes to greet clients in. 

Skyhold was a strange city, and Bull was glad he came. 

Dorian managed to convince Bull to try one of the Tevinter craft beers and for the next hour they had a drink and went deep into mechanical talk. The beer was tart but robust and had him pleasantly buzzed. Dorian laughed more freely with a little drink in him, and spoke very passionately about Tevinter bike engines. Bull argued for Ferelden craftsmanship which Dorian scoffed at. 

Another hour passed without either of their notice, the conversation flowing between bikes, Skyhold and racing. Bull only noticed how late it had gotten when his phone buzzed with texts from the others asking for updates.

“I hope this isn’t the part where you attempt to woo me with corny pick-up lines.” Dorian said.

Bull looked up from his phone, “I’ll stop the flirting if you don’t like it.”

“I, no, kaffas.” Dorian’s brows knit together, “I meant. . . Ugh, you stupid lummox.” 

Bull caught on, and grinned. He leaned over the table, a foot of space separated them, but with his horns he looked intimidating at any distance. He growled, voice a thick purr when he spoke, “Pick-up lines? Why would I use such things on a pretty, clever boy like you?” 

The effect was immediate, Dorian’s face reddened, adam’s apple caught on a deep swallow, He leaned forward, sucked in his lower lip just so. All cut so sharply by Dorian’s weak scoff, “I am hardly a boy.”

Bull smirked, “Are you?”

Dorian pulled closer, half a foot of space between them, too far from those dark lips. The tip of a pink tongue slipped out between to wet them. “I am Dorian--” A sharp intake of breath, then quick exhale. Dorian faltered, recovered, “I don’t expect a Qunari to see the difference, what with your minds so set on conquest.”

“Can you blame us when temptation rests right across from us? A ripe fruit always out of reach. Forbidden. Are you inclined to do the forbidden, Dorian?” Bull’s voice was rumble and purr twisted together.

“I’m unsure,” Dorian said, rough but deep, a purr of his own, “But I believe it is something to be explored.” 

Bull smirked, eyes turned down to look at those wet lips then pulled back. “I happen to know a place where we can do that.”

x x x x x x x x x x x x

Varric leaned back in his chair, eyes focused on Pavus while he wrote. E-mail would be the safest way to get the message to Dorian, no physical copy that can get tracked. He’s got a secure connection, and strong firewalls. A necessity to become the best in the buiz. 

Pavus finished the letter with a flourish, folded it in half and pushed it across the desk. “There is one more thing.” Pavus reached into his pocket and Varric felt his heart jump. This is the part in the movies that the bad guy double crosses you. Usually with a gun. Varric’s was in the desk, too risky to reach for.

“Please, deliver this to my son as well.” Pavus held an amulet in his hand with the Pavus family crest. “So that he may be able to return whenever he wishes.” 

Varric took the amulet too, and placed it ontop of the letter. E-mail was out of the picture now. He’ll have his people make sure it isn’t some sort of tracking device before sending it. “Is our business complete, Magister?”

Pavus nodded, “Indeed it is. Good day.” 

And just like that Pavus got up and left. No fanfare or threats. Varric sighed and stared at the top of his desk. What is he getting himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news and bad news! The good is that there will be six chapters. Bad is that the sex is in next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave kudos and commented last chapter. I had forgotten what I had planned for this chapter and the next few because I was a dumb dumb and forgot to write it down. However, looking over the comments gave me some ideas and now I have the story planned out once again. And this time I wrote it down. I like what I have now a lot, and I'm sure you guys will like it too. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll try to get the next one out soon but there's no promises.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I promised sex in chapter two and three? Oops. Well, there is definitely sex in this chapter. Actually, this chapter is mostly sex.

The coffee smelled like chocolate and hazelnuts, definitely not made with the crap beans from the machine down the hall. Varric smiled at the cup brought by cute reception girl, simple but filled to the brim. She came in with the excuse that she saw him in his office so much that he must be buried under work and needed a coffee break. It was partly true, but a coffee break with quality coffee? How could he resist?

He finished the second draft of his novel last night, today he had to send it to his editor in Kirkwall. After that he had an appointment with some woman who called herself Seeker. No other name given, and his contacts couldn’t dig up anything else either. A woman with a title from a dead order hundreds of years old, Varric shook his head and took a hearty sip from his cup. 

His cell rang from atop his desk. Varric set his cup down, and grinned at the caller. “Sparkler! Haven't heard from you in a while, business going good?”

“Quite good, which is why I’m calling,” Dorian’s said over the speaker, “Thanks for the parts you sent me, they came just in time. On that note, if you could send more clients my way I would be most appreciative.”

Varric nodded and made a note of Dorian’s request on a post-it, “Sure thing, Sparkler. My people are very appreciative of your work, I’m always happy to leave a recommendation.”

Dorian laughed, a rare sound, “What would I do without you, Varric?” 

“You’d be just fine, Sparkler. You do good work, and people would recognize that. I just give your business a little push.” He had a feeling things would work out, and was glad they did. It’s been a few years since Varric helped Dorian set up his business, and the guy was doing a good job. 

Dorian said, “Right. I’d say come and visit but every hotel is booked in the whole city for the 500 race. I do not look forward to all the traffic.”

“I’ll visit another time, Sparkler. Just don’t buy any more of that Dragon Tongue stuff.” The two said their goodbyes and Varric hung up the phone. Right as he set it down, it rang again. He looked at the caller ID and laughed.

“Hey, Varric!” The Iron Bull’s voice boomed across the line. Varric smiled, today was full of surprises.

“Well if it isn’t, Tiny. Good to hear from you. You and your gang still riding?” Varric knew Bull was headed to Skyhold, if not there already. They talked a week ago about the race, and Varric suggested a nice hotel for Bull and his gang to stay at. 

“Of course. But this isn’t a pleasure call, Varric. Baby got busted up,” Bull’s said.

Varric felt like fate was playing with him today. Dorian called asking for more clients, and his favorite motorcycle buddy needed a repairman. But first, some good natured teasing, “Finally collapsed under your weight, did she?”

“Varric, that hurts.”

“Just a joke, so what’s the problem?”

“I need a garage. A good one that can tow her and get her fixed up for the race. Only the best for my baby.” Ah yes, the dawnstone pink monster Bull rode. Varric never understood it, but Bull took pink very seriously. 

 “Don’t worry, Tiny, I know just the place for you. A out of the way mom ‘n pop garage run by a guy I know. He’s great with this stuff, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t take it personally if he offends you in some way. He’s got a chip on his shoulder.” A real big chip, but Dorian was one of the best repairmen. 

He got Bull’s location, just outside of Skyhold. When Bull hung up he dialled Dorian back.

“Dorian! You said something about new clients, yeah? Well I got a guy for you.” It would be wise to not mention that Bull is a Qunari. Even though Bull is a good guy, Dorian would take a bit to warm up to him. But only if he could get Dorian to actually meet him in the first place. 

“That quick? You never fail to surprise, Varric. Well, what is their name?”

“Actually, I need you to do a pick up. He’s about an hour outside of Skyhold, down the South Highway. You should probably get going before he freezes out there.”

“I haven't heard a name yet.”

Come on Dorian, don’t make this hard. “He’s an old friend, a good one at that. Come on, Sparkler, do a friend a favor.”

A pause, then, “Oh alright. I’m on my way then.” Dorian hung up on the other end and Varric prayed to the maker he didn’t start a new private war between Tevinter and Qunari. If his gut feeling was right, then those two ought to get along just fine.

x x x x x x x x x x x x

In ten seconds flat from the moment they squeezed out the alleyway, Dorian hailed a cab and the two of them shuffled inside with minimum horn scrapping on Bull’s end. Bull gave the driver the address of the hotel and Dorian whistled.

“So you do have some class after all. Here I thought you got a room at a motel.”

Bull grinned, free hand on Dorian’s knee, thumb rubbing circles on the inside. It had Dorian squirming in his seat. “Before a big race we always get someplace nice.” He inched his hand up, watched Dorian’s face to see it darken in increments. It was dark outside, the clock on the driver’s dash said it was 10pm. 

Dorian kept shifting, hands shaking and moving as though to move Bull’s hand but stopped short. Bull drew back his hand, throwing it across the back of the seat instead.

Dorian settled, cleared his throat, “All the better. I have never stepped foot inside a motel and have no desire too.” There was that air of pompousness, but teasing too. Bull saw through the gaps in Dorian’s mask, Bull’s fingers under the edges, ready to pull it off and see the real Dorian underneath. 

The ride to the hotel was short, all the better. Dorian paid for the taxi fair because Bull paid for dinner and drinks. The Iron Bull shot quick texts to Krem that he was not to be disturbed and put his phone on silent. His boys can take care of themselves for a night but he did not need them barging into his room asking if he struck out while in the middle of a home run. 

Bull lead the way to his room, prayed the walls were thick or his neighbors were voyeurs and locked the door behind them. On that loud clack, Dorian twisted around, pushed his body flush against Bull’s and mouthed at Bull’s jaw, the Qunari’s mouth just out of reach. Bull growled, soft and low, dropped his head to properly claim those dark, tempting lips. 

Spice and alcohol clung to Dorian’s lips, Bull chased the taste with his tongue, and Dorian opened his mouth, invitation and temptation. Bull claimed the new territory with licks and bites, thrill and heat trailed down his spine and pooled together. Dorian stood higher on his toes to fully wrap his arms around Bull’s neck and pulled them closer. 

With a growl, Bull pushed them forward, and guided Dorian to the bed with his hands on the man’s elbows. Dorian moved, mouth never moving from Bull’s except for quick pulls to breathe and crushes to bring them together again. Bull licked in-between those lips, tasted more of Dorian, licked into that sweet mouth. 

It was more intoxicating than any alcohol, Dorian was passionate, his hands wrapped tight around Bull’s neck, fingers scratched the muscles up to the back of his head, along the base of his horns. Needy little sounds caught on Dorian’s every heavy exhale, and he ground their clothed crotches together. Bull growled, pushed Dorian back onto the bed with a firm shove.

Dorian crawled back, slid into a lithe, full body stretch that pulled the bottom of his shirt up just so, and teased Bull with a sliver of exposed, golden-brown skin. Aw hell yeah. Dorian knew how sexy he was, and used it like it were breathing. Bull leaned forward, slid his hands underneath that shirt to feel the warmed skin, the flex of muscles underneath. Bull hummed his appreciation, and slid his hands up, exposing more of that chest, fingernails dug in just so to leave faint lines. Dorian moaned. 

“One thing before we get started,” Bull crawled ontop, mouthed at Dorian’s neck before he turned his gaze up to look Dorian in the eyes. “In case I do anything you don’t like, you have a watchword?” 

“It doesn’t surprise me to to find you are the kinky type, The Iron Bull.” Dorian sighed and squirmed underneath Bull, eager to get things going again. 

“I take it you didn’t like me touching you in the taxi? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Dorian. You don’t need kinks to need a watchword.” Bull kept his tone soft, but firm. “If you use the word I’ll stop.” He wanted Dorian to have all the power, know that he can stop this at any moment. In that sweet, dark-skinned face he could see Dorian thinking, no masks here. 

“Alright, give me one then. I can’t think of any.” 

Bull smiled and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s lips, “Katoh.”

“Qunlat. And that means?”

“Basically? Stop.” Bull said with a grin, placed another kiss to the corner of Dorian’s mouth as it curled into a smirk. 

“How practical. Now. Are you or are you not going to have your filthy way with me? Or are we going to talk all night?” With a buck of his hips Dorian ground against Bull with slow, enticing friction. That was all Bull needed and he went down, sucking and nipping at warm skin. 

“Strip.” He growled into Dorian’s ear, and leaned back to peel off his own shirt. 

Dorian shifted to shrug off his jacket, and slide out of his shirt. Bull’s hands were on him, trailing down the newly exposed chest and hell yes, he was right. Dorian was fit with taunt muscle and defined abs. He could see Dorian working out, getting sweaty at a gym riding the bikes or working with weights. “You are so fuckin’ hot,” Bull drew his tongue over one pert nibble, fingers worked the other one, all to hear Dorian moan and feel him writhe.

“Aren’t I?” Dorian breathed and laughed. His fingers worked on the button of his pants and down to the fly. He lifted his hips enough to push down his pants and underwear. Bull’s free hand dragged them down the rest of the way for Dorian to kick off. 

Dorian was already half hard, the dark brown cock twitched under Bull’s gaze, the pink head wet with precum.

“Has the sight of my cock conquered the Qunari?” Dorian reached between his legs to palm himself, his fine fingers wrapped around to stroke himself to hardness. Just when Bull thought Dorian couldn’t get any sexier. 

Bull lathed his tongue down Dorian’s navel, towards that cock and over the pink head. “I’m just getting warmed up.” He eased Dorian’s hands away so he could swallow nearly all of Dorian in one smooth bob of his head. Bull sucked hard, cheeks hollowed, and tongue pressed tight against the underside of Dorian’s cock, a thick weight on his tongue. Bull pulled up and off with a slick pop. 

“Maker,” Dorian breathed, face flushed, and eyes closed tight. Bull swallowed Dorian again, deeper and set a smooth, easy pace. Dorian whined, his hands found Bull’s head and pushed to encourage a faster pace, but Bull kept to his rhythm. He wanted to savour this, and draw out Dorian’s orgasim. He had Dorian unguarded, open to him, and fuck if it didn’t do something to him. 

Above Dorian keened, back arched off the bed. That dark-skinned body fit in between Bull’s horns like a perfect fit. One hard suck and Dorian tensed, perched at the tip of climax and Bull squeezed around the base of Dorian’s cock to cut him off from that release. 

He pushed himself up to catch Dorian’s pained whimper with his mouth, “Just you wait, I’m going to make you scream,” Bull murmured against dark lips, “You’re gonna feel so fucking good. So good.” He pressed his hand to the side of Dorian’s face, held it there as he eased Dorian away from release. 

Dorian breathed in gulps of air, his hands grasped at Bull’s arms, “Kaffas, Bull.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, but only needy noises came out. A sheen of sweat coated Dorian, light and glossy, like the man was made of bronze. 

“You have lube right? And condoms?” Dorian said, voice smoother, not as broken by heavy pants. 

Bull grunted and got up from the bed to fish from his travel bag, still unpacked and pushed up against the wall. “You want strawberry or passion nite, that’s n-i-t-e, nite.” He grinned and held the packets, bought cheap at a sex shop, up where Dorian could see. The ‘vint wrinkled his nose.

“If I had known, I would have brought my own. But fine, use the strawberry. My ass will simply have to smell like a chemical strawberry patch for a few days.” Dorian said, nose in the air, but smiled when Bull laughed then laughed himself. “Kaffas, get over here and fuck me before I say more things I never thought I would say.” Bull was happy to oblige.

With his teeth, Bull pulled the tab off the lube packet and spread half its contents over his fingers. He worked the lube over to warm it. Something he thought Dorian would appreciate. Dorian lay stretched across the bed, legs open, taunt cock hung over his stomach. Bull reached for Dorian’s legs, but the ‘vint put his hand up. 

“Take of your pants first,” Dorian ordered, Bull growled in response and rubbed one finger over Dorian’s puckered hole. The ‘vint gasped, but kept his hand up, “Please,” he panted, “I want to see you,”

“Hmm, how can I say no when you ask so nicely?” One hand continued to tease Dorian as Bull used the other to undo his pants and push them down. Dorian kept his hands back over his head, and stared hungrily as Bull revealed himself. 

Bull grinned and drew Dorian into a lazy, sloppy kiss with plenty of tongue, “Like the sight of me? You want this thick, fat cock inside you, don’t you?” He kicked his pants off his legs and brushed their cocks together. Compared to him, Dorian looked small, not even half Bull’s size. He rubbed them together again, the friction felt good, like a fire sent straight to his gut. Under him Dorian bit his lip and whined. 

“Kaffas, yes,” He rutted against Bull, seeking more friction, but Bull pulled away just as he pushed one finger into Dorian. Dorian bucked the air helplessly, pushed down to take more of Bull’s finger.

Dorian was so tight. The ‘vint’s back arched, his legs spread wide, just for Bull. He pressed his hand to Dorian’s stomach to hold the ‘vint down, keep him still as his finger opened him, a second finger quick to follow. A twist of fingers, and Dorian cried out, breathless. Bull drew his fingers across the spot again, and hooked them for added pressure. 

Dorian writhed, whole body tense for several moments before it fell slack and Bull pushed in another finger, scissoring them for the most stretch. “You’re gonna feel so good,” Bull whispered against Dorian’s thigh, lathed his tongue across the inside and bit down close to the crease. 

When he had Dorian open Bull lifted Dorian around the small of his back and shifted the ‘vint further up the bed. He placed a pillow under Dorian’s back to give them a better angle. Dorian let himself be moved, and drew his hands up to Bull’s horns to rub the base and fuck it was perfect. Bull hummed his appreciation, kissed the inside of Dorian’s arm then lined himself up. 

The lube packet had vanished under the sheets but Bull found it quick enough and emptied the rest of it onto his cock. He was hard and straining, cock twitching at the thought of sinking deep into Dorian and feeling that tightness around him. “You ready?”

“I’m impatient,” Dorian said, annoyed but breathless. Bull took that as a yes and pushed the head of his cock in. Dorian was so tight, even with all that stretching, and Bull groaned, deep and full. “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good.” He braced one hand over Dorian’s shoulder and pushed in bit by bit. 

“Ah, ah,” Dorian panted over and over, the ‘vints eyes were squeezed shut, hands tight around Bull’s horns, the ‘vint’s nails dug into the tender spot at the base just so; the pain was just right for Bull. 

Bit by bit Bull pushed into Dorian, and stopped only to rock his hips for shallow thrusts. Once sheathed into Dorian, balls pressed against the ‘vints ass, he rocked back in forth with insistent, deeper thrusts that had Dorian swearing in Trevene. Bull pulled out and snapped his hips forward. Dorian shouted, the sound dripped with pain and pleasure as Bull built up a hard rhythm until he had the bed rocking back and forth with how hard he fucked Dorian into the matress. 

Dorian chanted Bull’s name like a prayer, hung onto Bull’s horns like a lifeline. Bull wrapped his free arm around Dorian and held him to change the angle and fuck against the ‘vint’s prostate. If the neighbors didn’t know what was going on, they sure as hell did now. 

“Bull, Bull, fuck, I’m going to come,” Dorian barely managed to words, his face pressed into Bull’s shoulder.

“Come for me, baby, let me feel you come,” Bull growled. Dorian came with a sharp shout, whole body tensed and asshole clenched tight around Bull, nearly pulled him into his own orgasim. Dorian panted and keened, relaxed by increments and Bull fucked him through the come down, slow and lazy, enough to push Bull closer to his own orgasm and come balls deep into Dorian. 

Breathless and spent, Bull hovered over Dorian. Both of them were covered in sweat, and it felt great. It felt like ages since Bull had sex this good. 

Mindful of Dorian, Bull propped himself up on both arms, panted long and hard as he worked through his own orgasm. Bull pulled out and collapsed onto the bed. Both of them were sweaty and covered in cum, but shit if it didn’t feel great. 

They lay on the bed, shoulders touching as they recovered. When Bull’s breathing evened out, he got up to grab a wet rag from the bathroom and brought it back to clean off Dorian. The ‘vint tensed as soon as the rag touched him, Bull laughed it off thinking he had caught Dorian by surprise.

 

“Not used to the luxury treatment, huh?” He teased. 

Dorian propped himself up on his elbows, “Not really, no.” Bull stopped, he hadn’t expected such a blunt answer. Dorian went on, “Usually this is the point where I go into the bathroom to clean up then take my leave.”

“Today is your lucky day then. I’ll not only clean you up, but you can stay for however long you like. Stick around till morning and I’ll order that fancy waffle buffet on a cart this place advertises everywhere.” Bull grinned, hoping for casual, that Dorian would take the offer. Dorian was quiet, thinking. The ‘vint looked pensive while he thought, his brow drawn together just so with a tiny frown on his lip. 

“Well, I suppose I can stay a little longer. I honestly don’t expect how I’m supposed to move after taking you.” With a soft thump, Dorian fell back onto the pillows, a small smile on the corner of his dark lips. 

Bull claimed those lips in a lingering kiss, then finished cleaning them both of them off. They lay in bed, close but not quite cuddling as they watched the first movie they found playing on the TV. Somewhere during the end of a sitcom they fell asleep.

x x x x x x x x x x x x

Dorian tip-toed around the room to gather his things. Bull slept soundly in the bed, his snores soft and somehow impossibly endearing. How Dorian managed to sleep through that he had no idea, but he had a suspicion that the sex helped. It probably helped a lot. 

Each step left him feeling sore in the ass, that whole lower area still tender, and would be for days. Through the ache he felt the fleeting memory Bull’s hands on him, and cock stuffed full inside him. The feeling left him momentarily weak-kneed, but he pushed through. 

It was really kind of Bull to clean him up afterwards, a gesture Dorian never expected to receive, and made him feel guilty. He dressed quickly and quietly, even though he had no real need to. Dorian had cast a small sleep spell on Bull to ensure a smooth departure. If Bull were to wake up and talk of breakfast in bed and other such romantic nonsense Dorian might have listened and believed. 

But Bull was a biker, and bikers only knew the way of the open road. The biker comes to the city for the big race, wins the heart of some poor, fool, then leaves them for their first love. Dorian paused at the door, dared himself to take one last glance before he left, but couldn’t. If he looked back now he may make a larger mistake. 

At the current late hour, the hotel was quiet, only the night auditor at the front desk was awake. They offered to call Dorian a taxi, which the mage accepted. 

Dorian loved Skyhold at night, despite the bitter cold that made each breath sting inside his lungs. The tall skyscrapers, roadsides and trees were lit with vivid colored lights. Life in the mountains could be dreary with the many overcast days, so at night the city doused itself with color. If it rains then the roads look as though a tray of water color had spilled across them. Streams of color and cars the paintbrushes that drive across.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to ask if anyone would like to be my beta reader for the rest of this story and for a few other projects of mine. If you're interested then leave a note in the comments and we can talk more from there.


End file.
